


Anon Hate

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Sexual Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You really just don't look like the kind of guy who needs to meet girls over the internet." - Hayley Stark, Hard Candy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anon Hate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HSWC bonus round 1. Probably some errors, it wasn't edited to well. If you see any feel free to point them out!

 

He opens his email like he does at the start of every day, a little sarcastic hint of an homage to the tedious 9-5 grind of the average working american. Get up, punch in, cuppa joe at your desk while you spend the first four hours of the day doing half the work you could actually be accomplish in the time while you think about how much you hate your job. A salad for lunch, or maybe something with actual substance if you’re feeling naughty, then the next for hours doing the same.

 

It’s no surprise that that’s not the kind of life he’s ever been attracted to. He’s more of a free spirit, he thinks. Unburdened by the chains of capitalism and conformity. A phoenix among pigeons. In reality, he’s more of what would be colloquially referred to as a ‘douchebag’, but it’s really just two sides of the same coin.

 

Email. A few new messages. Orders, comments, feedback, the kind of stuff you’d expect if you were running your own online business, and something else.

 

That’s interesting.

 

It’s an email sent straight to his personal email, not rerouted from his website, and not from an email you recognize. [tentacletherapis@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapis@skaia.net). No viruses, according to the program that scans his email that he made himself, so sit certainly can’t be wrong.

 

*

 

[No subject]

from: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

to: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustactician@plushrumps.com)

 

Dear Mr. Strider,

 

As a frequent visitor to your websites I must say that the consistent speed and quality of your production is almost inspiring. I am always delighted to see new content precisely when it is expected, which shouldn’t be as much of a luxury as it is, but such is the nature of humanity. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but even in some grand sandbox of a universe where improbably architectural feats were capable of being accomplished in a day, it wouldn’t have been.

 

Let me be frank, Mr. Strider, I am far from what one would consider the target demographic for your erotic endeavors. I’m quite certain that you’ve been providing adult entertainment for your particular fetishistic niche long since before my blooming adolescence fueled the inquisitive yet trepidatious journey into the dank caves of the internet’s true purpose. Saying that, you have every right to think me presumptuous when I say that there are certain ways your business could be improved.

I ask for nothing but your open mind and a few sparse moments of your time, so before you dismiss my sentiments as a heavy-handed insult, riddle me this: what have you got to lose? Unless, of course, you feel that I stand a chance of providing valuable input and that your ego may suffer a blow or two.

 

I eagerly await your response.

 

\- A friend

 

*

 

He has no idea who this ‘friend’ is, but he knows that presumptuous doesn’t even begin to cover his opinion of the guy. He feels like outright rejection wouldn’t be as much as an insult as he’d hoped going into the letter, so of course his only choice is to respond.

 

\- - - - -

 

Rose Lalonde sits on her bed with her laptop in front of her and her head on her pillows like one does in their bed in the evening when the rest of the world has become uninteresting but sleep isn’t yet a thought lazily tugging on their lids.

 

She’s excited to see the correspondence she was waiting for.

 

*

 

re: [No subject]

from: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

to: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

 

Alright, pal. I’d like to think of myself as a gracious man and I’ll be willing to hear what you have to say, but I’m warning you now, if this turns out to be a massive waste of my precious time then I’ll ban every IP I’ve gotta to make sure you never visit my website again.

 

And here’s a tip: it might help to cut out the flowery crap. This is porn, kiddo, not a penny a pound bodice ripper you’d find in the bargain bin at a used bookstore. If it takes longer to read about what you’re tryin’ to sell me on than it does to get off on it, then you might as well quit while you’re ahead.

 

\- - - - -

 

re: re: [No subject]

from: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

to: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

  
  


I’m glad to see you’ve added a stick to my carrot. We may just be able to make a game of this yet. Although, it is regrettable that both the metaphorical punishment and reward are both rather phallic in nature. (This is something I’d like to address concerning your business model should you take my up on my offer.)

 

So would you like to play a game with me, Mr. Strider? I hear you’re the type. That’s something we have in common, liking games. Aren’t we getting along swimmingly already?

 

Let’s not treat each other like children, though. I certainly think of you as my equal and I’m sure  you’ll come to think of me in the same way in due time. Let’s raise the stakes a bit. You listen to my advice, and keep an eye on your profits. If the next month sees more than a 25% increase, I win. In return, I ask only for a humble display of defeat: you demonstrating proper use of one of your products. My choice.

 

Should it turn out that my confidence in myself was misplaced, then banning me from your website won’t be necessary. I’ll refrain from contacting you or frequenting any of your websites, if that remains your wish at the time. Of course, I’m nothing if not fair, so I’d be willing to oblige if you want from me what I want from you.

 

To cut to the chase, your website severely lacks in anything that would appeal to your average woman, or maybe ‘average’ wouldn’t be the right term for your clientele. That doesn’t mean that you aren’t alienating a good 50% of the people who might be interested, though. It’s once in a blue moon that the pornographic supply of the internet fails to meet consumer demand, but you cater to a very specific type, myself happening to be one of them.

 

I know what women like, Mr. Strider, and you have so much potential.

 

(P.S, I apologize for being a bit purple with my prose - should you find it a bit difficult to decipher, I can limit my vocabulary a little bit more than I already have.)

 

*

 

He sits at his desk and grips the desktop mouse so tightly that his knuckles turn white through his summer tan.

 

He should refuse, logically. He shouldn’t make deals with a complete stranger over the internet, shouldn’t risk the virtue of his livelihood on what boils down to a petty dare, but the gall of that guy. The gall of someone he’s never talked with to lazily waltz into his life without so much as knocking on his door first just to tell Bro exactly what he was doing wrong.

 

That ain’t something a red-blooded texan takes sitting down.

 

*

 

re: re: re: [No subject]

from: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

to: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

 

Sure, I like games, and I have a feeling that it’ll be nice to see how you start acting when you’re knocked off the prancing pony with the heart on it’s ass that you call your high horse.

 

A few things, though. For one, I make porn, professionally. What makes you think that watching you sexually pleasure yourself could be considered as a reward for me? I’m pretty sure that when I win, you getting the fuck out of my face is gonna be enough of a prize, thanks. Also, I’d say I hate to be rude but lyin’ ain’t really my game, so I’m just gonna say it. You don’t seem like the kinda guy who would know shit about what a lady’s gonna want in a sexual situation. You just seem like the kinda guy I’ve seen on dating sites who spouts out crap that he hopes is gonna make him seem smart to impress the chicks that he’ll call bitches when they reject him.

 

Guys who spend their free time harassing pornographers on the internet probably don’t have much experience with women outside of what they’ve read in their jizz-soaked Encyclopedia Vaginicas.

 

Consider the game on, but tell me this: who are you, and why the hell are you singling me out for your creepy pseudo-stalking.

 

\- - - - -

 

The next email Bro receives is short compared to the others, with an image file attached.

 

\- - - - -

 

re: re: re: re: [No subject]

from: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

to: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

 

You’ve seen people like me on dating sites? I’m surprised. You really just don't look like the kind of guy who needs to meet girls over the internet.

 

As for why you of all people, my reasoning is simple. You’re the kind of man who was fortunate enough to be born with a nice face, but you’ve climbed atop a molehill that you’ve made out to be a mountain and look down on everyone else like this somehow makes you tall. Knocking you down would have some satisfaction, but not nearly as much as there will be in seeing you struggle to be half the person you think you are.

 

You’ll have your mountain, Mr. Strider, but you’ll be building it yourself. One rock at a time.

 

*

 

Bro opens the photo attached and holy shit those are tits.

 

Those are really nice tits, attached to an elegantly feminine body, curves in all the right places, black painted mouth wrapped tightly around the nose of smuppet she’s got in one hand. In the other, a piece of paper with words large enough to read scrawled in loopy handwriting.

 

You can call me Rose if I can call you Bro.

 

She looks younger than him too, by a decent amount.

 

He’s got a preference for men over women, not enough of one to completely rule a chick or two out, and holy hell there’s not really more of a turn on for him than the sort of sadism this chick obviously has going for her.

 

*

 

re: re: re: re: re: ...

from: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

to: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

 

It’s nice to be ‘formally’ introduced to you, Rose. Bro is fine.

 

You’d better get that perky little ass of yours to work, though. 30 days is a shorter time than you’d think and it’d be a shame to find out that the shit you’ve been talkin’ is all you’ve got in you.

 

*

 

It’s only hours later when it occurs to him to wonder why she knows what he looks like.

 

He can’t bring himself to care at this point.

 

\- - - - -

 

A month, it turns out, is a much shorter time than Bro had though.

 

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but he hadn’t realized that backhanding a woman that was half his age with underhanded insults and dishing out threats that probably could get him marked as some sort of sexual predator counted as fun. He thinks that half of the fun is the way she manages to shove it all back in turn, dragging her prying claws over every inch of him and ripping him open so she can shove her needle-sharp words right into his softest parts.

 

She’s a spoiled bitch, thinks she’s smart because she lives in a big house with big books and can string together a few sentences with five times more syllables than words. He hates the way she talks and acts and demands like she’s got some sort of magic, in born access to all of the universe’s knowledge but oh god does he love it.

 

He had forgotten how thrilling it is when it’s not an easy win.

 

\- - - - -

 

The past month has found Rose locked away in her bedroom more than anywhere else, too stuck on her campaign against Bro’s ego to focus on anything else, enthralled by the prospect of having him bend to her will and take his punishment. She finds his style of argumentations similar to hers, but just different enough that either side can get in a curveball and throw the other off guard for the next string of violent, insult-peppered paragraphs. It seems a bit childish in some ways, to keep a little notepad full of potentially inflammatory comments on her bedside table, but the results are so worth it.

 

Her suggestions are good and they both know it, but her knowledge of business lacked more than she thought and she actually isn’t sure whether or not she’ll make the cut.

 

She finds the thought of being humiliated almost as appealing as the finds the thought of tearing through her opponent’s paper-thin ego.

 

\- - - - - -

 

re: re: re: re: re: ...

from: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

to: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

 

So the numbers are in.

 

25%. Twenty five percent on the fucking dot. You said if it was higher, you win. If it was lower, I lose. This is neither.

 

\- - - - -

re: re: re: re: re: ...

from: [tentacletherapist@skaia.net](mailto:tentacletherapist@skaia.net)

to: [tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com](mailto:tenebroustechnician@plushrumps.com)

 

I’d say it’s fair to call it a tie.

 


End file.
